


How to marry an angel

by Resa_Saso



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A little bit of it all?, Angst?, M/M, humor?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resa_Saso/pseuds/Resa_Saso
Summary: Crowley would like to marry Aziraphale. But he doesn't know quite how to do it. His friends have a few advices. In all honesty - He should've known not to ask them.





	1. Chapter 1

Asking Anathema had been a bad idea.

Taken completely aback, she had spent the whole evening frantically scrolling through notebook for notebook. Years of notes, drawings and complex diagrams sprung out of them, as she hectically turned page for page, so upset she almost tore some of them out – Aziraphale would’ve had a manic breakdown from the sight alone.

“It didn’t say… anything… about you two getting married,” she pressed out through gritted teeth, and Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it was in the second book? The one you _burned_?”

She cast a helpless look to Newton, who simply shrugged. “Is it that important? Listen, you could just… you know… Do it casually. Get a ring, get some flow…”

“No!” Anathema threw in. “No no no, this is not what Agnes predicted. She called you friends. I’m sure the word she used was _friends_!”

“Flo… flowers?” Newton tried again, but Anathema had already jumped up, pulling at her hair in open despair.

Crowley watched her with a look of resign on his face, then shrugged and got up.

“Maybe some Champagne,” Newton suggested with very quiet voice to the door that had just shut close right before his face.

The next person Crowley tried, was Shadwell. Or that’s what he wanted to do, but Madame Tracy was already all over him, making him tea and pushing him into the chair, greeting him like an old friend with the widest of smiles.

He remembered that she had once hosted Aziraphale and let her smother him for a while, a thin smile on his face the whole time.

“You know,” she had suggested. “If you wanted to, you could bring him! For only a little bit of extra charge, I can predict him quite the marriage with white doves and a pretty, red-haired boy with sunglasses on.”

He wondered how it was possible for her to know he was a fallen demon from hell and still ruffle through his hair like he was a six-year-old boy from Tadfield, but somehow, she was an unstoppable force, even for him. He was pulling a grimace and ducking away from another ruffle attack, as finally, Shadwell saved him with that obnoxious accent of his.

“So, what do you need from old Shadwell, boy?”

Almost gratefully (But only almost, he still remembered Shadwell attempting to exorcize his hopeful-soon-to-be-fiancé), he slid off his chair and fled towards the witch hunter’s office.

“Aye!” Shadwell exclaimed, after Crowley had barely begun to explain. “Marriage! I know about marriage! How many nipples does he have?”

“What?” Crowley asked, then quickly remembered who he was talking to. “Uhm. Doesn’t…. matter, really? Just answer the question?”

“Well! When Sergeant Pepper asked Sergeant Salt, everything went down rather quickly.”

Crowley raised a single eyebrow.

“Did anyone ever fall for this?”

Madame Tracy, having entered with a tray full of tea and biscuits, smiled cheerily at him. “Your future husband sure did.”

With a big sigh, Crowley got up before Shadwell could introduce him to Sergeant Teacup. Of course, Aziraphale had fallen for this.

He just had to fall in love with the biggest idiot Heaven had to offer.

They weren’t exactly responsive.

Crowley cherished that about plants, usually. After all the responses he had collected so far, he should cherish it even _more_.

Instead, he felt himself become desperate.

“Answer me!” he yelled at the plants, more because at this point, yelling was expected from him, than actual urgency for a reply. “Answer me or I’ll shred all of you!”

To his actual annoyance, his plants had stopped trembling, ever since he had talked about Aziraphale. Apparently, they had decided a demon in love couldn’t be all that scary and wouldn’t follow through with his threats.

Thinking about how the angel had constantly frowned at him whenever he had scared his plants in front of him, and instead comforted and sweet talked them, he decided with a sigh, that they might be right.

At least he wasn’t shredding them tonight, he wasn’t.

Instead, he sank down on the ground, chin resting on his hands, and wailed.

“Nothing’s gonna be good enough. He’s so bloody worried about what _God_ is gonna say about our relationship, how should I ever get him to say yes?”

There was a list of people he should really, really confront with this question. It was a short list, consisting of two people. It was sleeping somewhere, far back in Crowley’s mind, pushed aside so far, he could almost pretend not to know about it.

He was going to ignore this list as long as there were still other options open.

Still, Crowley thought as he put on his brightest smile to greet Warlock. This might not be one of his brightest ideas.

The boy looked positively aghast. “So, you… you’re in love with our ex gardener?”

Crowley shrugged. “You got to know him pretty well. What do you think I should…?”

“I dunno, throw slugs at him. Tell him, he sucks. Everything he says sucks. His teeth are ugly.”

For half a minute, Crowley was unable to say anything, just staring at the little boy speechlessly, wondering how their brilliant plan of making him a normal person had so failed. It _had_ been a brilliant plan, had it not?

He blinked.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how lucky I am you’re not the anti-Christ.”

And without another word, Crowley turned around to walk away, leaving behind him a very puzzled Warlock.

Which had brought him to another one of his brilliant ideas. The anti-Christ. If someone could help, it had to be Adam. Adam was a bright kid. He was sure of that.

He didn’t actually know that kid all that well, but he had, after all, stopped Armageddon, sent Satan to hell (quite literally) and chosen love over the apocalypse. One had to appreciate that amount of brightness.

But when Crowley rang at his door, a very annoyed looking man in his mid-40’s opened the door, announcing that the kid wasn’t to leave the house and who was he anyway, was he here because of the dog, God please, were they finally getting rid of the dog?

“Actually,” Crowley stated matter-of-factly, “I was wondering if your son could re-arrange reality so that my angel was under no pressure by Heaven and God to marry me and would say yes to my proposal?”

Humans could be rather unfriendly, Crowley thought, after having almost been smacked in the face by the door. He really didn’t know why he had bothered to try and save them _at all_.

Hastur was glaring at him darkly and warily. Crowley assumed, this had nothing to do with him killing his friend and trapping him inside an answering machine tape. Or with having significantly messed up Armageddon. Or with having basically _swum_ in Holy Water. It was more of a permanent look of his face. The only function his face had, really.

It couldn’t be talking. There was rarely anything sensible coming out of this mouth of his.

Why was he here again?

“You want me to give you advice on how to marry an _angel_?”

Ah.

Right.

Stupid idea, that.

“You know,” Crowley declared with a wistful little grin, while slowly backing away. “The more I think of it, the more I think I might have come to the wrong address. Got the door wrong, actually. I should just… just leave and I’m sure in a few centuries, we will be able to all laugh about thi…-”

But Hastur did not seem to be in the mood for laughing. He seemed to be in the mood to chase him down the dark, empty corridor of hell, with a loud growl caught in his throat and to Crowley’s endless surprise, the dark, wary face turned into one of pure rage.

While running, he quickly decided not to send any wedding invitations to Hell.

“Fine”, he muttered that night, looking up at the sky from his comfy place on the roof. Usually, he just enjoyed looking down at the city, always moving, always bursting with life. Humanity thriving, and him in the middle of it.

Not today though, no, his gaze was firmly locked on the sky and the only indication of nervousness were his hands, curled up to fists beside him.

Time to acknowledge the list in the back of his mind.

“Fine,” he said again, more to stall time than anything else. “I’ve asked every friend I know. I mean, I’m sure you already knew that, being all-knowing and all that, but they’re utterly useless.”

You could of course have told me to avoid the trouble beforehand, he added in his thoughts, not brave enough to say it out loud. But you didn’t. Because you never do.

“So, this is it, then. Here I am. Asking you for help. You’re feeling utterly self-satisfied now, I assume. Well. I… want to marry your angel. But he won’t say yes without your blessing, I know he won’t. So… you don’t want to… by any chance…” He cleared his throat, fiddling with his tie in utter nervousness now. “Give it to us?”

Far, far beneath him, he heard a loud crash. Smoke rose up to him and brought with it the sound of people shouting.

When Crowley looked down, he saw his Bentley in flames, from where a car had, apparently, crashed into it, and somehow gotten away with nothing more than a few scratches.

“Nice one,” he remarked dryly. “A simple ‘no’ would’ve done.”

“Aziraphale,” he remarked with a roll of his eyes. “Can you maybe sit still for a second. There’s something I need to ask you.”

The angel had been nervously shifting on his seat the whole evening, as if he knew that something was up between them. And maybe he did. He was annoyingly intuitive when it came to feelings and moods and emotions and all that other stuff, Crowley was exceptionally bad at.

Aziraphale nodded and gave him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I had a stressful week. I’m rather glad we’re having this dinner, though.”

“’Cuz you are,” Crowley muttered. “You had seven crêpes, after all.”

“Well, they were _delicious_.”

And Aziraphale gave him that brilliant smile that made his knees go all wibbly-wobbly.

“So, what did you want to ask me, my dear?”

Crowley swallowed hard. This was it, the big moment. He felt in his pockets for the ring, and closed his fist around the little box, before he nodded, just once, earnestly.

All the words he had carefully written down, then learned by heart in front of a mirror, then read to his plants, then sulkily read to God, just for the sake of spiting Her, had gone completely from his head.

He stared at the angel, completely lost for speech for a few seconds.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, then started looking rather worried.

“Crowley? Is everything all right?”

“It’s… it’s my Bentley,” the demon finally pressed out through gritted teeth. “It got hit by a car, do you think you can… do one of your miracles? Maybe?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s face lighted up. “Of course!” His expression changed immediately, a mix of worry and understanding edged on it like he was born with it. “No wonder you’re so out of it, poor you. I know how much that car means to you.”

Crowley gave him a forced smile, unable to believe how much of a chicken he was. He took another deep sip of his Champagne, trying to drink himself some courage, when he suddenly felt something between his lips, that certainly did not belong in Champagne.

He caught it between his teeth, firmly holding them together to not let it slip, turning his face to show half of the ring to Aziraphale as he did.

“Seriously?” he somehow brought out without opening his teeth.

There were beads of sweat on the angel’s pretty face.

“Yes. Well. I had something to… to ask you… too.”

The ring still between his teeth, utterly dumbstruck from what an incredible pair of idiots they were, he just stared at Aziraphale, who gave him the cheesiest, most adorable, utterly ridiculous cliché proposal he could think of.

They stared at each other for long, five minutes, the angel clearly getting extremely uncomfortable the longer the silence went on.

After a little while, Crowley spit out the ring and just whispered,

“You gotta be fucking shitting me.”

They were not marrying in a church. Aziraphale had agreed almost immediately and attempted to pretend that he wasn’t all that concerned with his Heavenly roots anymore, but Crowley knew that most probably the fact that he couldn’t enter a church without burning alive was the one to blame.

But he had to admit, out here, on Tadfield’s rich grasses, it was pretty heavenly all on its own.

All their (useless) friends had gathered together, and Aziraphale, who had, after a long explanation, told him to always, under all circumstances, listen to Newt and Newt only, stood waiting in his single only black suit, while Crowley stepped towards him with a white one on. They had thought it a nice twist.

Not that the demon had cared all that much. All that mattered was that Aziraphale and he were finally getting married and nothing and no one could get in their way now. With a grin, he looked up at the sky, sticking out his tongue for only a split second, for no one else to see, thinking “Haha. Marrying your angel! What are you gonna do about it?”.

It was then, a bright, flashing lightning appeared right in front of him, and with a pale face (paler than usual, that was), he watched Aziraphale sink to his knees with a cry of pain, his wings suddenly out and turned as black as the suit he was wearing.

Oh, Crowley thought. Well shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the angst commence!

There was chaos breaking out and Crowley, unusual quick-minded, grabbed Aziraphale, put his own wings around him and shielded him from the curious looks around them, telling him with a whisper to let his own wings disappear.

Aziraphale clearly couldn't think straight. His wings were trembling in the slight wind, his face was pale and rigid, his eyes staring widely into nothing, not even realising Crowley was there.

“Hey, hey,” Crowley whispered. “Ange-...” He bit his own lip. No no no, this couldn't be happening. “Aziraphale. Take a deep breath. I'm here, I'll get you home, yeah? Away from the people? Just stay with me. Look at me. Aziraphale, look at me.”

Those usually so expressive, warm eyes wandered to his face, tears shining in them and Crowley was horrified by how empty they looked.

“You're in shock,” he mumbled, not sure who he was trying to reassure right now. “It's just the shock. Come on, move with me, yeah. Can you move?”

Like a very funny looking, bulky lump of wings, they started moving, Crowley not letting go of his fallen angel for even a single moment. People were still talking loudly, but through the wind and their own shock, no words reached their ears. He was determined to shut Aziraphale from the world until he was back in his book shop, surrounded by what he loved and knew.

“Crowley,” he whispered, when they had almost reached the Bentley. He practically dragged Aziraphale with him now, opening the door with trembling fingers and pushed him gently onto the seat.

“I'm here.”

“Crowley, She... I... I feel so...”

“I know. I know. I'm here. I'll drive you home, then we're safe and we'll talk, yeah?”

He threw a look behind them, where their little crowd of friends had realised they had left and followed with question marks written all over their faces.

Aziraphale nodded, his hands clinging to the safety belt so tight, his knuckles turned white.

Quickly, Crowley got into the car himself, let a hand rest on Aziraphale's leg, and started the motor. The angel... no... God... the fallen angel probably didn't even register the slight tremble in his hands, as he started driving.

He waited for him to speak, to complain about the speed they were going, but Aziraphale didn't say a single word, his eyes looking blankly ahead.

He didn't even notice when they had finally reached the bookshop – Crowley opened the door for him, freed him of the safety belt and gently led him out of the car, through his doors, and to the sofa, where he slid down next to him.

“Why... why did She...” There were still no tears coming, but Crowley could see them shining in Aziraphale's eyes, waiting to be released. He laid an arm around him, pulling him close, his throat feeling constricted from the pain.

God, he sounded so hoarse, so sad and broken.

“I... I provoked Her. It's my fault. I'm so sorry, ang...- I'm so sorry.”

“Provoked Her?” Aziraphale shook his head as if he was trying to shake all of this away from him, gently, but for far too long. He still hadn't stopped when he started speaking again.

“No, no it's my fault. Marrying a demon, what did I think... It's... It's my fault.”

Crowley didn't know what to say, it was like something hard and heavy had just fallen on him. “Well, we're not married. She saw to that. So, I don't know, if you... if you keep away from me, maybe... I don't know, in a week or two, maybe a month, so she can see your good will...”

“No.” Aziraphale interrupted him, sounding firmer than he had all day. “No. Please. Don't leave me.”

“No,” Crowley repeated, unsure what to do. His voice felt like it might never work properly again. “Okay then. I won't. But...”

“I'm... I'm fallen now. I don't know... what do I... I mean...” Aziraphale suddenly shook, tears streaming down his face openly. Helplessly, Crowley pulled him to his chest, held him close, running his fingers through the blond locks, trying so hard to make it better, but knowing there was nothing he could do.

“It'll be okay,” he lied. “I'm here, I can help you with everything. You're not alone. I was alone when I fell. Everyone was. But you're not, you're totally in advantage here.” He realised how desperate he sounded and he hoped, prayed – no, he would never pray again! - that Aziraphale didn't hear it, too.

“Please don't leave tonight?” He sounded so vulnerable and another sob soon made him shudder in his arms.

Crowley shook his head. “Of course not, idiot. Come on. We'll go to bed. I'll hold you until you're asleep and everything will look better tomorrow, yeah?”

He wasn't sure how everything would ever look better again and surely, surely, Aziraphale realised that, too, but he didn't say anything, and got up together with Crowley.

They slouched upstairs, Crowley kept on supporting his... fiancé? - Were there still fiancés? Oh Satan, this was a _mess_ \- step for step, scared that he might fall (he didn't miss the irony in that) and got him out of the wedding suit, before he gently guided him into bed.

Quickly he got rid of his own suit, fell down next to Aziraphale and pulled him back into his arms. He sobbed quietly for a long time, but after a while, he calmed, clinging to the demon like a drowning man to a life boat, and his tears subsided.

“Crowley?” he asked after a while they had laid still by each other. “This feeling... this feeling of being completely disconnected, of being alone in the universe, this feeling of utter hopelessness... when does that go away?”

The demon tried his best to not stiffen in his arms, took a deep breath and forced a little fake smile on his face.

“Soon. Don't worry. So soon, love.”

Aziraphale nodded, seemingly relieved, and snuggled up to him, his face completely hidden in Crowley's chest now.

He took another few shuddering breaths, let his fingers run through the fallen angel's hair, again and again, waited for him to fall asleep, until he let himself cry.

It's not fair, he thought upwards, because he knew, he just knew God was watching. “He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to fall and he sure as _hell_ doesn't deserve to feel like this.

Crowley curled up around Aziraphale, sobbing into his soft hair, trying his hardest to stay quiet and not wake him up. He didn't have the heart to tell him the truth – It didn't matter anyway. He had felt like this for centuries, for thousands of years and if he had learned one thing, then it was that Aziraphale would soon know, know from the depth of his pain alone, that it would never go away.

When Crowley woke up, Aziraphale was already awake, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.

Before he could say as much as a good morning, he spoke in a cold, lifeless voice,

“Do I need to go... downstairs, now? Tell them I've fallen? Fill out some official demon application?”

Crowley shook his head, quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“You don't need to become a demon at all. You've fallen. You're free of obligation.”

“But you...”

“I became a demon, because it kept me from going insane. Because I was tired of the angel's hypocrisy and wanted to do something, change something, call them out. Because I felt alone and lost and didn't know what else to do with my eternity. I went downstairs, I became one of them, and I don't know if you noticed, but I _suck_ at what I do. And I didn't get one bit less lonely. Not, until I found you.”

“I used to... I used to feel like I'm part of something,” Aziraphale said after a little while of silence. “Even when they weren't there, even if they acted bloodthirsty and horrible and even when I was down here, with a demon, I felt like... they're part of my soul. Like I'm never alone, always loved. Don't demons... don't they...”

“No, we don't,” Crowley sighed. “Do we look like an especially committed, connected crowd to you? It's everyone for themselves, and you report to your bosses and if you're not doing a good enough job, you're done for.”

Aziraphale looked terrified at that.

“Then maybe not.”

“Wouldn't want to see you go there,” Crowley whispered and it was the truth. He loved Aziraphale because he was this soft, loving creature with a face that lit up from every little bit of beauty in the world, and an enthusiasm that could not be dampened. He didn't want him to grow cold and heartless because of... because of... _him_.

“Okay,” Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, you might be right. Yes...” He fell into silence again and Crowley wondered, if this was what it was going to be like until the end of time. If he would ever be able to be happy again.

“So this... this was how you felt when you fell?”

Crowley paused, closed his eyes, then sighed. When he opened them again, Aziraphale had finally turned around, watching him carefully.

“It's how I feel whenever I'm not with you.”


End file.
